He releases a low chuckle and takes another picture, even though his camera is positioned oddly due to our close quarters.

I close my eye again.

Emmitt takes another photo. And then another. And then another one.

I sigh, blinking the opposite eye open. “Can I help you?”

He shifts closer, sliding into the space between my knees, and leans over me. His eyes are half-lidded, his lips parted in a devilish grin. “Can you?”

I cross my arms. “That doesn’t work on me.”

Emmitt tilts his head. “Maybe that’s why I like you.”

I rest my hand on his chest, pushing him back. He moves without a fuss, but his grin just deepens in amusement. “I’m sure you like me just as much as you like any other girl I’ve seen you flirt with.”

He shrugs, standing straight again. “And yet you’re the only one I’m taking photos of.”

I hum, unimpressed. I decided a long time ago not to take Emmitt’s flirtatious remarks at face value, and I don’t plan to change my mind now.

“How’d you manage to convince your mom to let you go out anyway?” I ask. “What was your excuse?”

Emmitt gives me a look like he knows why I changed the subject—which is bold, since I don’t even really know why—but he answers anyway. “I told her I had a date.”

I blink. “A date?”

“A date,” he confirms, his grin back in place. “If anyone asks, you’re my girlfriend.”

“You are out of your mind,” I say, shaking my head. “I am not fake dating you for the day. This isn’t a movie, dickhead.”

“Isn’t it?” Emmitt asks, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, it’s not as if Mum is going to pop around the corner. She’s in meetings all day.”

I give him a wary look, and he offers me his most angelic smile. “If you say so.”

Then I close my eyes again, suddenly tired. There’s so much to do and so little time, and my brain is whirring with all the things I don’t want to think about. I hear Emmitt sigh quietly, but he doesn’t say anything.

The next time I open my eyes, daylight streams through the subway windows. We’re aboveground again, and our stop is next.

“We get out at the next stop,” I say.

Emmitt nods, lowering his camera. He must have been taking pictures of the view through the windows. I glance over my shoulder, looking out at the streets of the Bronx.

The subway comes to a halt, and when I turn around, Emmitt is holding out his hand for me to take.

I rest my palm in his, and his fingers wrap around mine, pulling me to my feet. We weave through the crowded entrance as one, and by the time we exit the station, we’re still holding hands.